


Manna

by hello_imasalesman



Category: The Outer Worlds (Video Game)
Genre: I would say light dom/sub but really it’s just Max bossing his Captain around, Low INT Captain, M/M, No main story spoilers, Oral Sex, PWP, Trans Maximillian DeSoto, Trans Vicar Max, pre-The Empty Man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:40:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21513169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hello_imasalesman/pseuds/hello_imasalesman
Summary: Captain Park has the kind of appetite that’s piqued Vicar Max’s interest.
Relationships: Male Captain/Maximillian DeSoto, The Captain/Maximillian DeSoto
Comments: 3
Kudos: 83





	Manna

Maximillian DeSoto remembers little from his history classes in seminary, and even if did remember more, he's certain most of it focused on the founding of Halcyon, the history of the corporations. So he does not know as much as he thinks he should about Earth.

He's certain, though, that there was more food on that planet that's ever touched this galaxy, a dizzying variety that would put a Spacer's Choice's catalog to shame. Captain Park only ever occasionally talks about it, the hushed way he always talks about things that happened before. Usually when sitting at the kitchen table, pushing rehydrated food with a spork around in its microwavable tin.

His empty eyes speak more than his words ever could. He's a big man, tall and broad, enough that Max has wondered how he ever fit comfortably in those hibernation pods. He's not soft by any means, though he's not cut like some of the people in Byzantium, with nothing better to do but to spend their time carving the fat away from their muscle until it was useless but pronounced.

He'll always clean his plate, and when Parvati eats off the ship with them and leaves any leftovers, he'll eat those too, and he's not above scarfing whatever Nyoka's forgotten if she falls asleep with an empty bottle at the table. Him and Felix always squabble for seconds, though often the Captain gives in and lets Felix have the bigger half.

And the Captain is hungry in other ways, too. Max does not put much stock into rumors, which he’s heard of plenty first and second-hand about the Captain, but there’s no doubting what he’s personally seen and heard on the Unreliable. There’s been noises from Felix’s room that couldn’t be explained any other way. Max is not a prude; it’s a common misconception most laypeople have in regards to men and women of the cloth. But he wouldn’t be opposed to a modicum of common decency either. Especially when he’s trying to study a dense text and Felix’s otherwise unused and normally stable desk has been thumping against their shared wall to a beat so steady he could set his pocket watch to it.

His Captain’s dalliances with Nyoka, at least, were much more quiet, though it always meant the day after they’d be grounded to replenish their liquor and caffeinoid supplies.

He’s not a prude. That is, to say, Max wasn’t against this sort of thing. He’s never outwardly shown any recognization of the Captain’s proclivities, other than a raised eyebrow when Nyoka stumbled out into the hall half-dressed but fully shit-faced, only in a bra and obnoxiously endowed harness.

But the Captain hasn’t sidled into his quarters yet, and he’s not exactly sure why. He’s not _offended_. Or _self-conscious_ , or any other number of droll reasons. He’s curious; it’s in his nature to question, written in his bones to always ask _why_? Vanity is not a sin, though he tries not to indulge in it too often as a rule.But Max is not an ugly man, especially for his age; he’s grayed gracefully, he keeps himself as trim as possible, even with how stationary the life of a theologian often kept him.

Generally, when these types of frivolous thoughts keep interrupting his studying, Max knows it’s time to take a break. If he’s lucky, the Unreliable’s cramped, single bathroom will be open and he can stay in there for as long as ADA will keep the hot water running.

“Hey, Vicar. Taking a shower?”

“Yes,” Max tries not to let his annoyance on being asked such a basic question bleed through. He’s very obviously on the way to the bathroom, walking out of his room with his towel and shower caddy under his arms. He’s wearing flip flops, because he trusts neither SAM in cleaning the bathroom properly or Felix Millstone cleaning his feet properly, either. “Why? Care to join?”

It’s a flippant comment, and he barely graces his Captain with a glance as he passes.

And he’s clearly slack-jawed and wide-eyed. Max does a double-take.

“Yeah?”

“That was a joke, Captain.” He frowns.

The Captain’s ear, and what’s left of it on his right side, are reddening at the tips. “Oh.” Still, something’s been planted now, a realization dawning as he follows on the Vicar’s heels. “Y’sure?”

Mouth clamped tight, Max sighs between his teeth. “You can’t be serious.”

“Well, I thought— I thought you religious types didn’t do, y’know—“

Max stops in the hallway once more: “That we don’t fuck?”

He keeps his tone monotonous, but the Vicar wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t having fun watching such a big man squirm the way his Captain is, fidgeting where he stands over his crass word choice. He chews on his bottom lip, looking the Vicar up and down.

“Uh, yeah?”

“Just because I’m not as flagrantly promiscuous as you does not mean I’m some deluded philosophist thinking sexual purity and mental deviancy have any correlation. It’s usually caused by employment status.”

“Hey, yeah, right!” Park grins, “I’m glad we agree on somethin’. I mean, work is good, and they don’t call it a ‘job’ for nothin’.”

Max sighs. But still, he pauses.

“You’re not monogamous, are you?”

“What,” Captain Park frowns, “Like the wood?” His face suddenly shifts with dawning realization, and then he’s leaning forward, his eyes going lidded in some approximation of sultry, sliding down Max’s body, “ I mean— heh. Yeah, course, I’m monogamous. I got wood for you, preach—“

“No.” Max holds up a single finger. “Architect, no. Fuck—“ He pinches the bridge of his nose with a ragged sigh. The beginning of a migraine was starting to collect itself against the back of his skull. “Never mind. Just leave me be.”

“Hey, alright,” Park wheedles.

Max is already walking past. Park starts to backpedal to follow him, “I’m sorry—“ He shifts his bulk right into the Vicar’s path, wedging himself in the bathroom doorway. “Wait— I mean— okay. I don’t know what that means, or if it’s good or bad, an’ I just—“

Max could squeeze by him; he could also just push him out of the way, or turn and leave. He’s half-tempted to cuff his Captain over the ear and yank him out of the way, as well.

“You... you seemed real stressed recently—“ And he holds out his hands, predicting a protested outburst, “Not that that’s why I’m offerin’. I’m offerin’ ‘cause you’re real handsome, and I,” He swallows, starts to trail off, “Uh...”

“Uh _what_ , Park?” Max mimics drily.

His Captain’s face visibly falls. He mutters, “Ain’t got the courage to ask, until now, y’know? Been thinking about it for a long time, believe me. You can be real intimidating like, but I can see you’re not interested, so I’m just—“

He startles as Max places his empty hand next to Park, caging him in with his body. When he leans in, chest-to-chest, his Captain freezes in place.

“Listen,” Max lowers his voice, leans in so only Park can hear, “This is on my terms. If I say stop, you stop,” Park’s head is on a pole, bobbling agreeably to every word. “If I say go, you go. And if I say jump—?”

It takes his Captain a moment to realize Max is waiting for a response, eyes like dinner plates. “How high! I ask, how high?”

Max smiles, “Exactly.”

It’s only after the bathroom door closes behind them that Max realizes he’s dropped his towel and shower supplies outside, but at this point, with his Captain’s tongue halfway down his throat, he doesn’t find himself caring.

They manage to maneuver themselves to the opposite side of the bathroom, Max’s shoulders to the faintly damp wall. He likes the way the Captain’s mouth moves against his own; he wants to see what else it can do, what all the fuss is about, and when he pulls away for a breath he’s already pushing him down with both hands on his shoulders.

Park kneels with no question. He’s waist high on Max, big hands skittering up and under his cassock to blindly fumble with his belt.

“Y’wanna help?”

“Mmn, no.” Max smirks as he settles back again the wall. “I want you to impress me, Captain.”

“I can do that,” he says, almost bashfully, wedging his fingers in between Max’s loosened belt and the band of his pants. He shucks them down in one yank, “Easy as mockapple pie.” He ducks under the edge of his cassock, pulling his briefs to his ankles with little fanfare.

Park presses wet, open-mouthed kisses up his thighs, dusted with wiry hairs. Park’s stubble is prickling against the sensitive skin, instantly soothed by his wandering mouth. He is soaking him like this, practically slobbering, sucking on sensitive flesh that keeps jumping under his lips, scraping his teeth against the skin. He rubs his thighs, reaches around to squeeze and knead at his ass; sometimes, Max is almost convinced the dull Captain routine is an act, because this teasing avoidance of even brushing his center is calculated. 

“Park—“ The Vicar snaps, and his Captain heels like a well-trained canid, pulls his hands away and rests them patiently on his own legs. The feeling of it runs straight through him, makes his cunt pulse in a knee-knocking way. His Captain’s almost too well-trained, kneeling on the floor, the front of Max’s cassock draped over his head like a curtain. He wonders how long he would sit there, the cold tile soaking through his slacks, the way his knees would eventually ache. He can feel his Captain’s breath, warm and skittering inches away from his skin. Close enough to almost taste.

Frustratingly stupid and yet, and _yet_ , Max wants to fuck himself on that face of his, grind against his puffy lips and wanting mouth. He pulls the edge of his cassock up, enough that he can see his Captain between his legs; at the loss of cover, Park looks upward, and the earnest eagerness in his eyes makes Max’s thighs clench around his head.

Max waits long enough to see the Captain squirm, kneading the tops of his own knees out of silent frustration.But he knows he won’t move, not until Max’s say-so: “Go on.”

Park jolts forward, nose nudging against his folds, “Fuck, Vicar— you’re wetter than—“

“No,” Max cuts him off, strangled, “I don’t want any metaphors.”

Park whines. The sound vibrates up, through the bridge of his nose, just enough, and he can feel his clit twitch. “It was a good one.”

“No,” He groans, “No it wasn’t. Can you—“

His Captain pulls back, slides a hand up his thigh. He slips a finger across his folds, just barely dipping in, swiping across his entrance, brushing against his clit, and he’s so sensitive his hips jerk and his pussy _aches_ , even as his Captain holds his finger up as if trying to test the direction of the wind. “See,” And his finger is _dripping_ , “You’re soaked, Vicar.”

“Park,” Max snarls, “what did I say?”

He wilts, “Sorry.”

“Are you going to be good?”

“Yeah,” he says, deflatedly. He moves to wipe it off on his slacks—

“Now, now, Captain.” Max tuts, his voice going low. “Don’t waste it.”

Park’s eyes flash dark, “No, uh. No vicar? No sir?” He tries, searching Max’s face for the answer. So eager to please, head slightly bowed. Max has decided the Captain looks good like that, sucking his finger clean as he considers other titles. “Father? Vicar?”

“Vicar is fine,” Max muses, as Park settles his wet fingers against his bare thighs, presses his face to his mound, “Go on, now,”

“Yes, Vicar,”

Max is neatly trimmed, clean and precise and maintained; Sole runs his fingers appreciatively over the hair on his mound, tugs a little at the curls with a grin.

“Grey here, too—“

“Park—“

“ _Okay_ ,” He presses his tongue flat over his entrance, massages his labia on either side with both hands. They’re shallow licks, nothing penetrating, messy against his outer lips. “Okay—“

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Park pointedly sucks his labia into his mouth, and his petulance would be eyerolling if they weren’t rolling for other reasons.

Max holds his head there, throws one thigh over his Captain’s shoulder. Park moans and surges forward, even as Max draws him in with his heel digging firmly into his spine. He’s voracious, annoyingly so; he sucks, then licks, with no real rhythm, no consistency, just a maddening flitting from one activity to the next.

He wishes Park had more hair then the close-cropped buzz he has, but guiding him by the ears, the back of his neck, will have to do, his nails biting into the soft skin behind them.

“There,” he barks, “Suck.”

If he’s being too hard, the Captain doesn’t seem to mind. He’s wet and sloppy, slick shining across his face.

He flicks his tongue across his clit, then wraps his lips around and _sucks_ , and Max’s thighs clamp so tight around he’s sure, momentarily, that Park can’t breathe. If he can’t, he’s not complaining, humming breathless against his cunt.

His fingers are digging into the meat of Max’s thigh, little pinpoints of heat. He rides that wave, that pulsing feeling, chases it as he grinds against Park’s face. “There,” he gasps, “There— Law—“ he can feel himself clench around nothing, the ache that’s building; and he’s more than tempted to tell his Captain, there, _there_ to the tip of his thumb maddeningly stroking at his folds, spreading, massaging at his lips but never pushing in to his center.

But he hasn’t _said_ to yet, has he, and Max nearly grinds his teeth in frustration, the hand on Park’s head twitching away as his hips stutter closer. “Park, use your fucking fingers—“

The Captain’s middle finger slips in, easy with how slick Max is, and curls, _curls_.

“Fuck—!”

Max shoves Park’s face away. He yips when he tips backward, off the balls of his heels to fall on his ass against the tile. Knees momentarily jellified, Max sinks halfway down the wall. The Captain looks almost as dazed as Max feels, glassy-eyed and glassy-mouthed. Max exhales, rubs a hand down his face and breathes ragged through his fingers. Minutely, his legs tremble.

He’s only snapped out of his post-orgasm haze when Park’s searching hand slide up his thigh. His muscles jump under his touch, but Max allows it, absently petting his head. He can hear the clank of his belt buckle against the tiles, the rustle of fabric. 

Park doesn’t ask for him to touch him. And Max doesn’t. But he watches his Captain with a detached sort of fascination, sitting on the floor of the bathroom and breathing open-mouthed against his thigh, jerking himself off at his heels. Max runs his nails against his scalp, murmurs hushed platitudes like prayers for his Captain until he comes with a whine in his tightened fist.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and crits always welcomed and much loved!! I read everything but I am admittedly way behind on replying (and finishing fics please don’t tell my other fandoms)
> 
> tumblr: woahwoahwoah-itsrizzos


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